


Home for the Winter

by Lomonaaeren



Series: 2013 Advent Fics [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent, Christmas, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Divorce, Romance, blended families - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco and their children are trying to have a nice Christmas together. Well, maybe "nice" isn't the operative word. Or "Christmas" either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for the Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is another Advent fic for [personal profile] germankitty, who requested a Harry/Draco fic with the following prompt: _Post-DH/epilogue, but with the wives out of the picture for whatever reason. A blended family's first (?) Christmas/Yule, with clashing (Muggle and Pureblood) customs, traditions and expectations. Can be humorous and/or crack-ish_. It’s definitely humorous, though I’m afraid not crack-ish. Happy Yule/Christmas!

“Hey, Dad, look at this!”  
  
It hadn’t been many months that he and Draco had been together, and this was the first time all their children had been gathered in Malfoy Manor, but Harry had already learned to dread those words.  
  
He halted in his passage across the great hall of Malfoy Manor and obediently looked. Al stood at the top of the huge marble staircase that led up to the first floor, waving excitedly. Scorpius stood next to him, with a string of fairy lights in one hand and his wand in the other, and Harry thought they were going to cast a spell that would wind the lights around the banister. He smiled.  
  
Instead, Scorpius cast a spell that made the string of lights grow and leap out into the air, although what it anchored itself on Harry couldn’t see. Al gave a whoop and  _jumped_ from the top step, grabbing the lights and swinging towards the floor.  
  
Harry stood frozen for one long moment, time for Al to complete more than half the distance down the staircase. Then Harry shouted something wordless, cast lots of Cushioning Charms all over the stairs, and cut the string of lights with another swish of his wand. Al let go and yelped as he fell.  
  
Of course, he landed right on the Cushioning Charms, and everything was all right, and there was  _no reason_ for Harry’s heart to be going like one of those stupid drums that Draco’s house-elves had beat last night, all night, because apparently it was Tradition. Harry ran towards his son and dragged him to his feet. Al looked shaky, but focused on him well enough, which meant no concussion.  
  
“What did I tell you about risking your life?” Harry gritted through his teeth. He looked up at the top of the step, but Scorpius had already vanished. Harry scowled. Scorpius might be in Gryffindor with Al, but he had learned from a Slytherin father when to make the best of a bad situation and retreat.  
  
“Er,” said Al, dangling from Harry’s hand and at least pretending to look sheepish. “Not to do it?”  
  
“Right!” Harry gave Al one more sharp shake, then put him down on the floor and crouched in front of him to place his hands on his shoulders. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“No,” said Al, eying him sideways as if he thought Harry had forgotten the events of the last two minutes, although Harry was sure that he would be seeing them in nightmares for years to come. “You prevented that, remember?”  _And prevented me from having fun, too,_ his tone all too clearly said.  
  
Harry gave him one more shake, to prove the point. “Who thought up swinging on the fairy lights?”  
  
“Scorp.” Al flushed. “He said it was a wizarding tradition.”  
  
“Perhaps I should be glad to see that he is not above pranking his friends,” said a cool voice from behind Harry, “although I am not sure whether to give thanks for that as a Slytherin trait, or lament it as a Gryffindor one.”  
  
Harry turned to see Draco walking towards them. He wore perfect dress robes of dove-grey, and balanced a small wooden cup on his wrist. It probably didn’t have eggnog in it. Harry had tried to tell him about how some Muggles drank that, and the one time Harry had managed to sneak a sip of it when the Dursleys had it, it was perfectly delicious, but that had just made Draco’s eyes grow colder. He disliked doing anything that would “associate” him with Harry’s “horrid Muggles,” as he called them.  
  
“Draco,” Harry said, with a nod to him. He didn’t mention anything about Scorpius. They had agreed that when they were together, they would be the ones who disciplined their own children, except if one of them was in imminent peril of death. At least that meant Harry had someone to share the burden with  _most_ of the time, given that his children seemed to have inherited all of his recklessness and none of his sense. “It’s not a tradition, I take it?”  
  
“No.” Draco halted and took a sip of the not-eggnog, his gaze traveling across Al. Al flushed more brightly and bowed his head. That was more effective than any of the scoldings that Draco could have given, and wouldn’t, because of their bargain, Harry thought. His children weren’t always enthusiastic about having Draco in what was effectively a stepfather’s place, but Al looked up to and wanted to impress him. So did Lily, sometimes. “It is one Scorpius invented, and not one I will encourage.”  
  
Al squirmed in place. “Right. I know you and Dad were just concerned about me. Sorry.”  
  
Harry hugged him this time. “Right. And I’m sorry for overreacting. I just didn’t want you to repeat what happened when you fell off your broom in the summer.” That had been several nights at St. Mungo’s as they regrew some of the delicate, fiddly bones that Al had managed to smash, like all the ones in his left hand.  
  
“Me neither.” Al finally shuddered in the way that most people would have long before now and fixed an earnest gaze on him. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Dad.”  
  
Harry ruffled his hair, since Al had decided that kisses on the forehead were embarrassing about the time he went to Hogwarts. “I know. Go away now, and make yourself a holy terror in the kitchens.”  
  
Al grinned, and ran away. He enjoyed the size of Malfoy Manor the same way he did, most of the time, Draco’s fancier robes and more refined manners, and especially the house-elves who were always willing to make extra sweets for “young masters.”  
  
“Are you going to come watch us light the Yule Log?”  
  
“And the tree,” Harry muttered, as Draco reached out and took his hand, helping him to his feet.  
  
Draco fixed him with a clear grey gaze. “A tree is inane.”  
  
“Says the boy who could hardly take his eyes off the thing his first year at Hogwarts,” Harry retorted, and pulled Draco close enough to kiss him. Draco let it happen, and his mouth did taste of alcohol and other interesting things. Harry would have pulled him close enough to crush that robe, but Draco stepped back, shaking his head.  
  
“I’m no longer a boy,” he said, his eyes trailing down Harry’s body and halting briefly at his groin. “And you aren’t, either.”  
  
It was ridiculous that Draco could say those things, and Harry was all ready to pant, while Draco turned away, apparently unaffected.  
  
“Coming?”  
  
And things like  _that,_ too, Harry thought, grumpily, as he trod after Draco’s gracefully gliding figure.  
  
*  
  
“I like this tradition.”  
  
Harry smiled down at his daughter—although he had a lot less further to go, these days. At twelve, Lily was already far taller than Harry had been at that age. He thought she was taller than Hermione had been, too, although that was a little harder to remember.  
  
He was glad. It meant that Lily didn’t look exactly like either him or Ginny, that she was growing into her own person. He could remember a time when both he and Lily had been worried about that.  
  
 _Along about the time of the divorce._  
  
Draco was pacing in a circle around the huge log that lay in the middle of the snowy garden, although of course Warming Charms shielded all of them and special charms were on his cloak and boots and robes so as to protect them from the drifting flakes. Harry imagined how silly this would look if they were in the rain or the grass was perfectly green beneath them, and snickered.  
  
Draco shot him a single, intense look, before he faced the log again and raised his hand. Standing behind him, James tensed with excitement. Harry was glad that he had wanted to be chosen for this special place in the ceremony, the one who would give the flaming brand to Draco. It showed that James was more reconciled to the divorce than Harry had thought.  
  
Draco whirled his wand over the brand, and it grew to a size nearly half that of the log. Draco tossed it into the air, and it went impossibly far, pivoting in the air like a rising star instead of a falling one.  
  
 _He cheated,_ Harry thought. He recognized that particular nonverbal spell, although he was impressed that he hadn’t seen Draco make the wand motion. But he had to admit it was also impressive to hear Draco chant the words, “Welcome to the longest night!” as the brand fell from the sky and alighted on the log.  
  
It burst into vivid flames, nearly as scarlet as those Harry had once watched consume Fawkes. He blinked, to clear his eyes from the afterimages, and started clapping. Lily and James were already doing so, and Scorpius and Al, arriving late with sugar-smeared faces, added their whooping voices to the procedure.  
  
Draco stepped back and bowed in all four directions. Harry knew there was some sort of symbolism behind that, but he had gone to sleep while Draco was trying to explain it to him.  
  
Draco waved his wand, and the burning log levitated into the air, heading into the house. Harry knew that house-elves would take charge of it soon and break it up to burn in the Manor’s fireplaces, but in the meantime, there was a stately little procession behind it, Draco first as lighter of the log, and then James second, and then Lily, and then Harry.   
  
Harry hadn’t tried to understand the symbolism of the procession, either. But Draco had asked him to do it, and that was enough for Harry.  
  
*  
  
“He’s all right.”  
  
James said that in such a low voice that Harry had to turn his head. They were seated around one of the fireplaces, with the Christmas tree blazing away in the background. And Draco had at least watched them decorate it, even if he hadn’t participated, instead leaning back in his chair and sipping brandy, another drink that he had insisted was traditional on the solstice.  
  
“Who is?” Harry asked, leaning down. He knew what he  _wanted_ James to say, but it had seemed out of the realm of possibility for several months.  
  
James gave him the look that sixteen-year-olds used when something was stupid, which meant ninety-nine percent of everything. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to call Draco by his first name, but then, Lily was the only one of their family besides Harry who did. Al had too much respect for him, and James too much distance. “I thought he was trying to take Mum’s place, but he hasn’t.”  
  
Harry slowly nodded. “But he’s with me.”  
  
“That wasn’t Mum’s place,” James said, leaning back and crossing his arms. They were the nearest to the fire, and Draco and Scorpius were on the other side of them, listening to Lily recite a speech from Shakespeare. Harry had given up on converting Draco to appreciate the greatness of Muggle works, but Lily was still trying. Of course, if Draco  _did_ like it, he would probably just insist that Shakespeare had secretly been a wizard, and the fact that not much evidence about his actual life remained was a case in point. “And if you think it was, you’re barking.”   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. Sometimes he had to give up on the attempt to understand his children because he had the feeling he would be barking if they started to make sense. “I’m glad that you can adjust to the divorce, at least.”  
  
“Yes,” said James, but nothing more. He was much more like Percy than he was most other members of the Weasley family, Harry thought sometimes, restrained and self-controlled, although his hair blazed as red as any of theirs and he was in Gryffindor like all the rest. “Mum is fire and fun and racing around and being the best. You and Mr. Malfoy are relaxation and sitting around the fire and contentment.”  
  
“That’s as good as fun, is it?” Harry asked wryly. On the other hand, if he was going to understand any of his children, he could come closest with James by listening very carefully to the words he used.  
  
James arched an eyebrow, and nodded. “Sometimes, it is.”  
  
Lily glared at them because they were interrupting her recitation, and Draco cleared his throat delicately. “We were getting to the part about Prospero’s magic,” he murmured. “If you would  _please_.”  
  
Harry made a gesture of zipping his lips shut. Lily got it, and giggled. So did Al, coming back into the drawing room from yet another trip to the kitchens. Scorpius cocked his head like a curious seal, and Draco frowned.  
  
Harry had to grin at that, too. There were some things about Muggle culture Draco was fairly awful about, and things it was  _fun_ to tease him with.  
  
*  
  
“Thanks, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry looked up, surprised. He’d been arranging gifts under the tree, and along the wall in a wrought-iron box that apparently generations of Malfoys had used for gifts, and he hadn’t expected Scorpius to come in to talk to him. “Really? For what?”  
  
Scorpius wrapped his arms around himself and looked a little nervous. Probably because he was supposed to be in bed and was breaking the curfew that Draco had imposed and the house-elves followed fanatically, Harry thought, quiet amusement lingering under his skin.  
  
But the amusement fled with Scorpius’s next words.  
  
“Because you made my dad happy.” He looked Harry straight in the eye and swallowed. “I never thought he would be happy again, after Mum left. And I know that Mrs. Potter left, too, but that was only this year, and Mum was two years ago, and…” Scorpius stopped, floundering. “Oh, shit,” he said unhappily. “Yours was bad, too. Sorry.”  
  
Harry just shook his head. He knew Draco would be stricter with that evidence of fourteen-year-old floundering, but he wanted Scorpius to say what he meant. “You mean that he was cold and unhappy for two years before I came.”  
  
Scorpius looked at him in wonder. “Right! Why does the Ministry always say that you shouldn’t be allowed to make speeches? Because you’re  _good_ with words!”  
  
Harry held back the many, many things he wanted to say to introduce Scorpius to some things about the world. He didn’t need to know them yet. He ruffled Scorpius’s hair, the way he did Al’s, and Scorpius accepted it the way Al did, still looking up at him.  
  
“I’m good with them,” Harry said, with a grave nod. “But I don’t always say what the Ministry wants to hear.”  
  
Scorpius grinned. “Headmaster Longbottom is like that sometimes, too. Especially when Matilda does something wrong.”  
  
Harry smiled back. Matilda Longbottom was Neville and Hannah’s daughter, a Ravenclaw sixth-year right now at Hogwarts. Harry knew that Neville was enormously proud of her, but also made sure to keep her on a tight leash so that she wouldn’t get any ideas about privileges as the Headmaster’s daughter, which sometimes people from the Ministry or the Board of Governors had tried to tell her she possessed. “Right. Well, thanks for telling me that about your dad, Scorpius.”  
  
“What lies has he been telling you now?”  
  
Harry looked at Draco in wonder. That was the kind of thing he couldn’t say with any of his children, teasing or not, because they would take it the wrong way, but Draco’s mild tone and the shining way Scorpius gazed at him showed how it was taken between  _them_.  
  
“That you were unhappy, and Mr. Potter made you better,” Scorpius said, and squeezed past Draco and ran while Draco still stood there staring.  
  
Harry walked over to him and pulled on his wrist lightly, urging him forwards for a kiss. “Was he wrong?” he murmured against Draco’s lips.  
  
Draco raised a hand instead of answering, tangling his fingers deep into the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck and tugging. Harry let his head fall back in response, his lips part on a gasp.   
  
He knew he made Draco happy. He  _knew_ he did. And there was yet another way that he could do it, and which they would indulge in as soon as their children were in bed.  
  
*  
  
“Did I ever tell you how incredibly lucky I am?”  
  
Harry wanted to say yes, he had, and he remembered hearing about it for years before they became involved, what with the way Draco had bragged about his money and his family at school. But he was a little too busy gasping to speak.   
  
Draco reared back, his smile light and perfectly in place, and adjusted the angle of his thrusts. Harry arched, head rippling towards the edge of the bed, and Draco—who prided himself on having perfect balance at  _all_ times—reached out and grasped Harry’s hips, adjusting him and pulling him back into place on the silken sheets.  
  
 _One of the drawbacks of silk,_ Harry had said to him once, and Draco had retorted,  _Anything that gives me the ability to touch you isn’t a drawback._  
  
Draco closed his eyes for a few seconds and thrust quickly, erratically. Harry grinned at him. He loved lots of things about having Draco inside him, but none so much as this moment, when Draco began to lose control and started to succumb to his pleasure.  
  
Of course, Draco also got his breath and his  _mental_ balance back unfairly quickly, too, as he proved by bending over Harry and whispering into his ear.  
  
“Because  _now_ ,” Draco breathed, “I know the value of people. And I have you and my son.”  
  
Harry arched again and cried out. It wasn’t the first time Draco had made him come with words alone, but it was one of the sweetest, the words twisting up inside him until they, and he, burst in a shower of white sparks.  
  
Draco grunted, seized Harry’s hips, and thrust again, and then he was sighing and collapsing and trying to find a position that was both comfortable for him and not crushing Harry. Being Draco, he found it in a few seconds, and sighed again as he nestled his head into the crook between Harry’s neck and collarbone. It was Harry’s turn to stroke his hair, and marvel.  
  
“I was unhappy for a long time before you came,” Draco whispered.  
  
Harry wanted to say something smart about how he never knew that his orgasms would make Draco that happy, but the cool fingers on his face and the grey eyes shining down on him kept him still.  
  
“Astoria and I had thought we could stay together, but Scorpius left for Hogwarts, and that was the end of the bond,” Draco whispered back. “It took us another year to admit it. I was unhappy for so long. I thought I kept it well-hidden from Scorpius, but…”  
  
Harry took Draco’s hand and held it. He didn’t think he and Ginny had drifted apart for the same reasons—they had always liked each other better than he thought Draco and Astoria had—but they had stopped feeling a real bond long before the divorce. And no children left at home had simply exacerbated the fact that they weren’t a family with no one connecting them.  
  
“Thank you,” Draco said simply, rubbing his thumb along Harry’s mouth. “Thank you for showing up, and trying, and running after me, and talking to me, and persisting when I put you off, and  _trying_.”  
  
Harry grinned. It had felt good to be able to do that, to choose someone no one else would have expected, instead of Ginny, who had been the choice of the papers and the public as well as Harry’s after the war.  
  
“Thank you,” Draco whispered once more, and kissed Harry again. “For making this a wonderful Christmas.”  
  
He went to sleep before Harry could remind him that he had insisted it should be called Yule.  
  
Harry whispered into his ear, “I love you,” and wrapped his arms around Draco, and together they lay before the crackling of the fire.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
